everything i wanted you to tell me
dissolved in a breath of salt.
this year was a cup
half empty.
i am only ever water—
one part ocean, one part rain,
endlessly dwelling in
the labyrinth of blue.
each step forward is swallowed
by the tides behind.
i woke up from a dream
(in which i spoke a foreign language),
to the the vowels slipping
through my fingers like vapor,
and the words returning
to the sea like storm.
my longing guts
reach for the door.
on the other side is a season—
she can leave or linger if she wishes.
oh alien planets! they never
have to know what comes after spring.
but my moon pulls me back,
the more i push, the more i drift.
like the ocean, i return
to where i began.
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